


Sowing sorrows before you wither.

by To_Matt_Oh



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Brain Trauma, Eye Trauma, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt with no Comfort, I don't have the vocabulary to explain how not happy this is, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Mouth trauma, Other, Painful Death, Slow Death, Suffering, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, This isn't a cute one lmao, Unrequited Love, although when are my fics cute tbh, ear trauma, graphic description of... Pain? Death? Uhhh, internal bleeding, like seriously, medical complications, nothing of value can come out of this one and I apologise, so beware bc I'm seizing the medical condition and all, so much pain, there's sooo much angst, yeah maybe skip this one I'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 08:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20005069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/To_Matt_Oh/pseuds/To_Matt_Oh
Summary: When he was called to check a patient with with a rare, yet deadly medical complication related to a common disease he had to see for himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey you saw all the medical, angsty stuff up there right? You're not underestimating it, right? You're prepared for it? Ok good, just checking in bc, spoiler: it's not a "oh yeah he went to the doc" one off mention. This all developed in a hospital which means: it's not good. At all.  
> Take care of yourself 💚💛

When he was called to check a patient with a rare, yet deadly medical complication related to a common disease he had to see it for himself.

He was called over a month ago as he was one of the few experts that also lived in the country.

He remembers having the phone pressed to his ear, bewildered as an old colleague described the symptoms for him.

"That's impossible." He mumbled. "He's still alive?"

"Yes, but not for much longer." His colleague said.

He fawned, but still couldn't quite believe the doctor until he saw it with own two, shortsighted, eyes. He looked at the document he was writing for some international publisher, then at his desk calendar, finally landing on his planner. He sighed, fixing the phone between his ear and shoulder as he quickly looked up planes that could take him to the hospital as fast as possible.

"You know, I'd be nice to have a cup of coffee and talk like in the old days." He said as he entered his data and bought a plane ticket. He could hear a sigh of relief from the other side of the line.

"See you soon, Doctor." She said pragmatically.

"Smell you later, Lana." He said, then hung up.

He flew over that same night, then was rushed through the halls first thing in the morning as the practitioners and nurses filled him up on the details. They seemed generally confused and panicky, clueless, even. He chalked it up to the lack of experience and moved on.

They reached the ICU, the doctor started scanning the patients for the one he was called over. Nothing unusual, but the practitioners kept walking, so he followed them. Now he was even more confused than during the call. They stood in front of a closed door. He could see the light was off, so he figured the patient was sleeping.

"When was the last check up?" He asked as he eyed the report and expedient he had been handled upon entrance.

"Eh, twenty minutes ago, we check him every hour, Doctor." 

He hummed. Oranthoptysis was not a serious or deadly disease, even if the effecteds did feel like it. Most of the time it was a matter of waiting for the symptoms to appease, and if the problem persisted there was a simple surgery that could be performed and most of the patients opted for it early on anyway, so this case was simply hard to understand.

He looked up at the intern with a frown and asked about the surgery.

"Hasn't been performed, as far as we're aware. We searched his records but only found an appendectomy from three years ago."

The doctor felt like cursing under his breath. Without surgeries he could rule out a botched procedure, and that only further stirred the mystery.

"Home made remedies?" 

"Not that we know of."

"Well we can start from there." He said, starting to open the door.

"I don't think he'd be able to answer any questions, Doctor." The intern interjected.

"Sedated?" The intern shrugged. "Intubated?" The guy winced, hissing lowly before shaking his head. The doctor raised an eyebrow, but he entered the room.

He had been told before that due to the state of the patient, the room had to be as dark as possible at all times, so not only were the lights off, but they had installed blackout curtains too. It took him awhile for his eyes to adjust to the wall of darkness that was the room once he closed the door and turned, but when he did, and started to make out the shape of the patient in bed he froze, barely able to get any air into his lungs.

The state of the patient was worse than described, or at least worse than he had managed to recreate in his mind while his colleagues described the situation.

As a medical professional who had seen countless people die back when he was doing his medical practices and residence, he liked to think of himself as cold blooded and difficult to get affected by patients, yet for some reason the sight of the man before him curdled the blood in his veins.

He lies in bed, male, 27, pale as the sheets covering his frail body, delicate with long, dark hair scattered on the pillow, robust violets and roses sneaking out of his mouth and nose, some flowers and petals had managed to get tangled in his hair as well. Wide eyes looking intently at him, waiting for something to happen.

  
  



	2. Blooming, bonding.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor looked at him like he couldn't believe he had a doctorate and a specialty after such a stupidly obvious question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An thus the medical interview begins. Let's all collectively pretend it makes sense and sounds legit bc I'm basically clueless here.

Never had he been more bewildered. He stood in the consultory, holding a radiography to the light over his head. There on the black acetate, slightly darker than the bones, he could barely make out a mangled mess of roots, leaves and thorny vines, along with flowers inside his patient's body. What shocked him though, was the way they extended way past the lungs, wrapped around the heart, down to the guts, around the liver. But also upwards, the trachea, the nasal cavity. 

He sucked in a hissing breath, cursing shortly after. The radiography was old, the plants hadn't actually came out his nose then. He wondered what the extent of the damage was.

Heart constriction was a normal, if severe, symptom, but it was rare for patients with thorny flowers to get it. Thorns were rare in on themselves.

The Doctor was puzzled. He slammed down the radiography on the desk and sat down. He looked down at his notes, tapping the nearest pen on the surface.

After half an hour of looking at dead ends and getting side tracked by unrelated thoughts, he got out, walking down the aisles until he found one of the interns put under his guidance.

"Hey, Erickson, is the patient awake?" He asked the guy.

"I'm not sure. The last revision was fifty minutes ago." Her informed, checking his watch.

The happy noise the doctor emitted was comparable to a toddler being told he could pick anything from the candy store.

"Alright, I'll check up on him, tell the nurse to not bother." He said, clapping the intern's shoulder a couple times before strolling his way down to 'the greenhouse'.

When he opened the door, he found the patient awake, turning to him as soon as the door was opened.

"Oh, good morning Connor. It's good to see you awake." He beamed, trying hard to follow his professional script and not show his conflict with this particular case. "How are you feeling?"

Connor groaned, shifting his position a little and closing his eyes with a pained expression. "Like shit." He croaked.

The doctor hummed, making his way closer to the man. "Makes sense. Anything new?" He asked, taking a quick look at the sprout in his nose. Connor winced, jaw tightening, so he pulled away. "Sorry. I keep forgetting you generally can't talk when in pain."

"'least you admit it." He mumbled. The way his voice sounded was painful just to hear, one could only imagine how much it must hurt to be the one talking. "My eye hurts." He added after a moment, voice almost like an old man.

The doctor looked up curiously. "Which one?"

"Right."

He moved closer, trying, in vain, to get a look among the darkness. He considered pulling out a flashlight to perform a regular examination, but it would probably hurt him more, considering he had been laying in shadows for a couple days before he even arrived. "Can you describe your pain?"

Connor stayed silent for a moment, probably thinking of how to phrase it. "The light hurts." The doctor blinked in disbelief. "It's dry and… like something is poking it inside… also debris."

Silence. For far too long, there was silence. The doctor was speechless, unsure of what to address first.

"Light?" He mumbled. "Well the room is already as dark as it can be." He looked over at Connor before chuckling. "I can barely make it to your bed without knocking things off."

The guy stayed silent, like he didn't believe his words.

"You can't… turn it off?" Before he could even answer, he spoke again. "'s it protocol?"

"Uh- no- it's- it's already off." He informed, and almost could see an exclamation mark form above Connor's head.

"Wha-?"

"There's blackout curtains too."

"WHAT?!" his voice shot through the room, and he had sat up on a rush. "No- it's just- it's just dim!" He assured before getting a fit of cough and clenching his abdomen. Apparently sitting hadn't been a good idea.

Once again he was speechless, but he helped him lay down on his side. He hesitated before continuing the check.

"Alright, darker. I'll see what can be done." He scribbled something down on the clipboard and continued. "Why don't we talk about the symptoms? When did they started up?"

"I already told everyone." Connor mumbled, plucking some of the flowers from his hair. "... At least two years ago."

"Two years." The story checked up, but it still didn't make sense. "Did you try making a move? Confessing?"

"Taken." 

"Why didn't you seek treatment?"

Connor scoffed. "Twas just a couple petals, I thought it'd go away on its own." The doctor hummed, but the silence continued. "Or… maybe it wouldn't work out."

"Ah." And scribbled something else. "Both make sense. Crushes can be very brisk."

Connor stayed silent, likely thinking of the person that 'caused' his illness. He sighed softly, the doctor could only make it out because of the way the leaves and the violet that sat close to his mouth swung. "Phcking wack."

The doctor perked up, waiting for him to continue. "Hm?"

"'s just phcking wack, I really do deserve it, ha?" The doctor blinked, unsure of how to take it. "What kinda person wishes a perfectly healthy relationship doesn't work out just so maybe they get a chance? And a chance to what? To make them miserable?"

"Oh lots of people, really." He said in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

"Great." Connor said flatly, eyes rolling.

"What I mean is that is in no way an isolated incident, or a new phenomenon, and in no way does it mean you brought it on yourself, that's just not how it works."

"It's still gross." He mumbled.

"Compared to what?"

Silence. The doctor realized that this didn't bring any new information except for a psychological profile maybe, and he was in no way qualified to make an assessment.

"Have been evaluated by a psychologist yet?" He wasn't sure if this was the best way to ask, or why, for that matter, was he asking.

"It's hard to avoid thought spirals when you can't avoid your environment." He mumbled.

More notes. "Does your throat hurt?"

Connor looked at him like he couldn't believe he had a doctorate and a specialty after such a stupidly obvious question. "Have you ever strained your throat after screaming and crying for a little too long but powered through next day for a presentation?" A nod. Oddly specific but relatable. What did that say about the doctor? He hoped Connor was taking it as rhetoric. "I wish I felt that good."

"Alright." He noted it down. "Just surprised that you've talked this long, it says here you don't usually sustain conversation."

"It's never necessary, they don't listen to me anyways."

"What do they ignore?"

Connor shrugged. "They think I'm taking it,or making it worse on purpose. Like anyone would want this."

"Noted. You haven't coughed in a while either."

Connor's expression made him think that maybe he had caused him to want to cough. "I don't like to… cough when people are nearby."

The doctor nodded. "Okay. It also says here that you have rejected food for almost a week."

"I have a phcking twig in my throat." He groaned. "I can barely swallow my own spit and not choke with the leaves. And we already said: it phcking hurts."

"Well… usually lack of food leads to intubation but I can see why that wouldn't work." He frowned. "Did you refuse intravenous too?"

Connor's mouth opened, and he blinked a couple times. "No one suggested intravenous." He flicked the messy hair off of his face with a shaky hand, picking a fallen leaf. "I don't like needles but,... I wouldn't refuse if they weren't doing it unexpectedly… unless I was having an episode."

"Episode?"

"I-" he huffed, face getting hotter. "I can get very angry sometimes." He sounded annoyed already, probably just embarrassed at having to say it out loud. "I thrash around, like a goddamn toddler."

"Well, I think that's the only solution, but what do you think?"

Connor felt silent, playing with the leaf he had picked. "... Sounds good."

"Alright. I think we can leave it at that, you're probably wishing you could snap my neck." A soft chuckle from the patient and he smiled. "I'll leave you to rest, please make sure to tell me if anything new happens next time."

And with that he left.

He ordered the hallway light remained off, as well as installing a blackout on the outside window as well. He needed to check out his eyes though, so he got an ophthalmologist to evaluate him as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy can't wait for the chapters where I write it all out by letting the tears hit the characters I want typed out :'^}


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course he had spent over 5 years getting a specialty in Oranthoptysis and helping develop quicker and less invasive treatments, but it was easy. It didn't mutated every couple of years, there were a handful of well studied variations that could appear, and the biggest challenge, if any, was figuring out how to convince stubborn patients that getting rid of the feelings was not only necessary, but also beneficial to the overall health of the one suffering from the illness, both physically and mentally, since the experience could be quite traumatic.

"What do you mean _blind_?!" He almost yelled at his colleague.

"Total loss of vision. I can't explain it either. One day he's alright, the next one he can't see shit. Maybe some sort of stress related neurosis."

"No, it's not neurosis." The doctor hissed. "If he lost his entire vision in the eye that had been hurting him for over a month before anyone thought of making an examination there must be an explanation." He growled.

"He can't see anything, Doctor. If not neurosis then a brain tumor perhaps."

"Well then refer him to someone else. There must be at least one other competent doctor in this hospital."

If looks could kill, then both doctors would probably have dropped dead right then and there.

"I'll refer him for an MRI scan." The ophthalmologist muttered.

"Good. I'll wait for the results, you don't have to get involved any further after that." The other doctor informed.

"Have a good evening, Dr. Kleinman."

"You too, Dickson."

With a last killer look he was left alone, and so he jumped down on his chair, pressing his face down in his hands and groaning loudly. He cursed a couple times before running his fingers through his hair and looking at the ceiling. This was going to be harder than he had expected.

* * *

He stirred the coffee slowly, intently observing the concentric ripples, as if they held the answer to the mysteries laid before him. His brow furrowed, a thoughtful expression taking over him.

"Don't you think?" A voice pulled him out of his mind.

"Eh? Sorry I got distracted." He apologized.

"Why doesn't it surprise me?" She chuckled, dunking a sugar cookie in her coffee. "Some habits just never go away, huh Jared?"

"Tch, shut up. If you haven't figured out this case then what hope does it leave me?" He lamented.

"Ah, but you're the expert, you're the one that spent over 5 years specializing in this." 

"I was young and naive, still believing that I'd never have to think too hard about this flower spitting bullshit flu." He groaned, finally taking a sip of his drink.

Alana hummed, looking down into her 'cat mom' mug. "You say that because you've never had it, it's far more complicated once you suffer from it. Plus you never know if you'll get it or not."

He sighed, shrugging nonchalantly. "Still. This case is…"

"Hard?"

"Ridiculous." Was the answer. "You expect me to believe he never seeked any treatment? No concern when he started spitting blood?"

"Well he said he didn't expect it to last long." She reminded him. "And he does have a history of mental illnesses, we can't discard mental health affecting his behavior or reaction to the illness, especially if he thinks he deserves it."

"Better yet!" The doctor exclaimed with annoyance. "If he thought it was no more than a crush that would fade away soon, then why did he wait three damn years until his organs were being squeezed to juice?"

She sighed, giving the other doctor a tired look. "Hope is one hell of a drug."

"Fucking addicts, just making things complicated." He muttered.

"I thought you were against the war on drugs?" She asked with a mischievous expression. She had won.

" _ **I am**_. I'm just tired of this case."

"Tch, come on, it's been a week, I've dealt with it for a month." She rolled her eyes, fixing her glasses shortly after. "But anyway, we're not working, let's talk of anything else." 

Her chipper was so vivacious that the doctor could do nothing but smile, joining into the mindless conversation in no time.

They talked for so long that the coffee grew cold, the pastries they had brought slowly shrinking in quantity until the sun was nowhere in sight. Jared excused himself when the clock struck 10, saying that he didn't want to drive whilst tired, lest he killed himself at the wheel before even solving this puzzle of a patient. She walked him to the entrance of the building, waving at him as he pulled off the driveway.

He didn't sleep much that night, the strange hotel room still uninviting and unknown, so he visited and revisited his old notes and papers in search for something he had missed, crafting emails asking for the opinions of his old teachers and colleagues that he'd send the next day at a more decent time.

He continued with all that even after his eyes were tired and dry, after which he had to take a break, rubbing his eyelids and trying to not think of the poor patient that had lost his vision that same day, trying not to think if it could possibly be reversed, trying not to think about what he was thinking, how he was feeling, what he'd say next day.

Of course he had spent over 5 years getting a specialty in Oranthoptysis and helping develop quicker and less invasive treatments, but it was easy. It didn't mutated every couple of years, there were a handful of well studied variations that could appear, and the biggest challenge, if any, was figuring out how to convince stubborn patients that getting rid of the feelings was not only necessary, but also beneficial to the overall health of the one suffering from the illness, both physically and mentally, since the experience could be quite traumatic.

And yet, here he was, convinced he wasn't getting the full story, that the patient was withholding important information that could make or break this case, but not even sure why he was thinking that. Perhaps because he was desperate to give closure to the case and forget about it. He wanted to go home where he could just write academic papers and do little research, but above all he wanted to stop feeling second hand guilt.

Sure thing he felt pity for most all his patients, never having experienced the disease first hand, but he never lost sleep over any of them. He wanted to be annoyed, but instead his stomach hurt when he remembered his mission, like it was his responsibility to get back Connor's health from the green chlorophyll of the plants he was nourishing, and that made him angry. He wanted to quit, tell his colleagues that he couldn't do this, that there was no point in doing this and that nothing they said could convince him on continuing, that it wasn't even worth it, but he didn't even knew why he felt so strongly about this case.

For the first time in a while he turned to prayer for guidance and by the time he fell asleep it was little past 4 am and he had to be at the hospital before 6.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man I sure do wonder why is Jared so adamant in dropping this case ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
